


Taking One For The Team

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Fuck Or Die, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Incest, M/M, Porn with some plot, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, basically just porn, magic boners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You lovely boys either start doing the horizontal mambo or you both die. Horribly. Screaming probably.” She says with a tinkling little laugh that grates on their nerves.</p>
<p>             “Same deal I gave every other homophobe in this red-neck, back-water town. Funny thing,” she hops up onto the desk, manic glee on her face as she watches her magic spread and take root, eating away at the boys from the inside “they all chose death over a little man-on-man lovin’.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking One For The Team

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicbubblepipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/gifts).



> There's about a million fuck-or-die fics out there and all of them are beautiful in every way, but magicbubblepipe wanted a fic where they have hot brother sex with no remorse and I tried to deliver. Hope I lived up to her expectations c:
> 
> Beta'd by me, so any mistakes are my fault.

         

 

            “You fuckin’ kidding me?” Dean asks calmly, even as the acid tendrils of the witches’ magic judder over his skin and slip beneath. He growls quietly, low in his throat as the prickly, stinging heat scrapes over him. Sam’s jaw tightens and he breathes out harshly through his nose as the pricking, pulling pain sinks bone deep.

            “Sure as hell ain’t sweetheart.” The witch/match-maker purrs, arm slipped under her breasts as she watches them from under lowered, fake lashes. Dean’s got his gun level with her pretty head while Sam’s got a bead on her lover/familiar what-the-fuck-ever else the redhead is to the murderous matchmaker.

            Sam’s finger tightens on the trigger and the feral looking woman smiles, teeth white against her viscously red lips. “What did you do?” Sam asks the witch through gritted teeth, low and furious as his skin burns, eyes never leaving the women who’s reclining, lithe as a jungle cat, on a black leather couch.

            His hands tremble as the pain grows, like lye beneath his skin, and it takes more effort than he likes to keep his gun up and steady. The witch, Agatha, and if that isn’t one of the un-sexiest names Dean’s ever heard, laughs and it feels like sandpaper over Dean’s skin.

            “Start talking or I start shooting.” Dean says, and if Sam were on the other end of that gun, he’d be ten kinds of terrified. Dean’s got that look, the one that sends demons running and makes angels question their morality as he watches Sam’s hands start to shake out of the corner of his eye.

            She laughs, and it’s supposed to be sexy but she’s killed 18 people, men specifically, in one week and Dean’s pretty sick and fucking tired of her and her hell-cat girlfriend. His shoulder is still throbbing from where her lynx familiar had opened 3 gashes on the curve of his shoulder. They aren’t deep, but they hurt like a sonuva bitch. It’s been an hour since and the blood has dried stiff and itchy against his skin. 

            Sam’s got a magic induced burn low on his back and neither of the brothers are feeling particularly charitable towards the doublemint twins.

            “You _lovely_ boys either start doing the horizontal mambo or you both die. Horribly. Screaming probably.” She says with a tinkling little laugh that grates on their nerves.

             “Same deal I gave every other homophobe in this red-neck, back-water town. Funny thing,” she hops up onto the desk, manic glee on her face as she watches her magic spread and take root, eating away at the boys from the inside “they all chose death over a little man-on-man lovin’.”

            There’s a beat of silence, the kind that’s deep and profound and she’s got this smile on her face, like she’s won this hands down, and she shares it with her familiar.

            “Like, right here? I mean, come on, that’s kinky, even for a demon’s whore.” Sam’s gun weaves for a split second and he struggles to keep it steady while his vision blurs. There’s a different kind of burn, the sexy kind, and he glances down in disbelief.

            “Oh come on.” Sam says, exasperated. He’s hard, like deep into foreplay, his dick is starting to ache hard, which is mildly upsetting, because about a minute ago he’d been completely flaccid.

             Dean snorts out a laugh and considers shooting her just to shut her up. But they don’t the depths of the spell and it would really suck if his itchy trigger-finger got them both liquefied, like the other unfortunate fellas in this town. His skin is starting to crawl and whatever mojo she’d tossed their way has to be fast-acting, because he’s sporting a sizeable stiffy.

            “That’s Ms. Demon Whore to you, junior, and if that’s what you’re into, you go right ahead.” She replies, oozing sleeze. Something mean flickers in her grey eyes as she notes the distinct lack of fucks given at her big reveal. She pouts a little and Dean shifts his weight and grimaces when denim rubs rough against him.

            “How about I shoot you in the face and call it a night?” Dean bites out, a bead of pre-come pearling on the head of his cock.

            “It’s a spell numb-nuts, killing me leaves you with two bodies. And you still have to fuck your brother. I’d hurry though, you’ve got maybe 15 minutes top before the police show.” The woman on the couch laughs and rolls to her feet. She saunters past the brothers, skirt riding up her thighs, and into the kitchen to make herself a drink, seriously eye-fucking her master as she strolls past.

            Sam follows her all the way through the door but doesn’t pull the trigger for the same reason Dean doesn’t.

            “You’ve got 10 minutes before the spell takes full effect and you start to melt from the inside, but take your time boys, I do love watching my work play out.” Her eyes drag over each of them and Sam has to fight the urge to cover himself protectively.

            “So what, we fuck, spells over? That your game?” Dean asks skeptically.      

             “That’s my game Dean. But you, macho-man that you are, going to fuck your brother? Your death is almost assured.” She laughs a nasty laugh and tosses her sandy hair. “How about you Sammy? Gonna take one for the team?” She sneers, accepting the martini her familiar brings back.

             “12 minutes boys, better make up your minds.” She sing-songs.

            “Sure,” Dean says, giving a half-shrug “I’ll fuck my brother.”

            Sam shrugs and holsters his gun, wincing when his cock gives a too-sharp throb. “I’m game, wanna try and make it back to the motel?”

            “Might as well.” Dean grunts back, shifting himself to keep his zipper from digging into his bare cock.

            “I need to start wearing underwear.” Dean grumbles, keeping her in his sights as they back out of the room. “That’d probably be a good idea.” Sam snorts, frowning unhappily as he limps past Dean.

            They leave with her dumbstruck, furious face fresh on their minds and pull out of her driveway with time to spare. They hear the sirens before they see them and are well away by the time the cops pull up.  

                                                                                                        *

            “Sam, I swear to God if you drop the keys like some floozy in a b-rated horror movie I will beat your ass six-ways-till-Sunday.” Dean groans, almost doubled over as Sam wrestles with the door. He gets it open and they tumble inside. Dean slams it behind them and rips at his shirt. He’s got it up and over his head in seconds and he’s tearing at the buttons of his jeans before Sam’s even got half his buttons undone.

            “You pitchin’ or catchin’?” Dean asks through grit teeth, the tip of his dick flushed red as he pushes his jeans down around his knees and then kicks them off. Sam gets his shirt off while Dean scrambles in his duffel for the mostly-full tube of lube he keeps in a plastic bag at the bottom.

            “Real talk, my dick is pretty big; you’ll need a lot of prep unless you want your butt-hole to rip.” Sam grunts honestly, pulling his jeans down and tossing them off to the side. He flicks off the light and Dean turns on the bedside lamp. Sam is on the bed in seconds, belly down on the mattress, his achingly hard cock pressed into the scratchy comforter.

            “Righty then, drop ‘em Sammy.” Dean squeezes a dollop of lube in his palm and grips himself, groaning raggedly at the first cool touch of lube on his burning skin. He doesn’t get much relief and he grips himself tighter, giving himself a few quick strokes while Sam pushes his boxers down beneath the curve of his ass.

            Dean bites his lip as he moves to settle between Sam’s knees. Sam hands a pillow back and Dean slides it under Sam’s hips. Sam gasps out a moan when the pillow rubs against him and he presses his hips back eagerly, hot and needy all over and desperate for some kind of friction.

            “Dean, I swear to God, just do _something_ before I literally freakin’ melt from the inside.” Sam hisses, lifting up on his elbows and snatching up the lube. He slicks two fingers and reaches back to rub at his clenching hole.

             Dean sucks in a gasp and his dick pulses out a thick bead of pre-come as Sam slips a finger in up to the first knuckle. He rocks back on it, taking it deeper with each desperate rock of his hips and adding a second one. Sam has his face buried in Dean’s pillow while he fucks back on his fingers, the low burn in his muscles better than he’d expected given the circumstances.

             Dean coats his fingers again and rubs them over Sam’s entrance, around Sam’s fingers, and pushes them slowly inside when Sam slips his fingers free and grips the sheets. “Fuck, Sammy.” Dean growls hoarsely, the tight clench of Sam’s muscles making him swallow hard as he opens Sam up as quick as he can.

            Sam’s a panting, gasping mess by the time Dean’s up to the last knuckle, 3 fingers deep, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “Dean, please, just fuck me.” Sam breathes, exasperated and somehow amused with the situation despite the fact that his skin feels like it’s melting.

            “Since you asked so nicely.” Dean snarks back, pulling his fingers free and lubing himself up again for good measure. He grinds forward, tip of his dick bumping against Sam’s slick entrance, and groans loudly at the brief wash of sweet relief.

            Sam echoes the frenzied sound and pushes himself up so he’s on his hands and knees. Dean lines himself up with one hand and grips Sam’s hip with the other. “Hold still.” Dean grunts, rolling his hips forward so the head of his dick is flush against Sam’s fluttering muscles. He stays that way for a few seconds, just feeling Sam’s heat against him.

            “Fuck. Me.” Sam bites out in return, getting a hand on around himself and stroking quick and hard. Dean smirks, oddly proud, and presses in. Sam moans, a series of short, gasping groans as Dean sinks inside of him. It burns, but it’s a good burn and Sam rocks back hard, taking Dean deeper as his muscles clench down tight around the tip of Dean’s dick before giving and taking him deep.

            Dean doubles over, curled around Sam’s back as he presses in, an arm going around Sam’s chest while he reaches the other around to grip Sam’s cock. Everything is so tight and Dean can barely catch his breath while Sam clenches down on him, hot and tight and perfect.

            Sam’s eyes slam shut the second Dean’s fingers close around his shaft and he uses his arms to get some force behind the next thrust of his hips into the circle of Dean’s fingers. Sam’s dick is thick and long and something hot and shuddery flutters low in his belly as he imagines what it would feel like to have that monstrosity balls deep inside of him.

            Using his hold on Sam’s chest, he hauls him up; dick sliding deep into Sam’s clenching heat. All it takes is two more slow rolls of Dean’s hips and he’s cumming into Dean’s tight grip. Sam’s dick twitches in his hand, spurts of cum slicking his fingers as he buries himself as deep as he can.

             Dean can’t keep them up, not with Sam going limp against him and slumping forward. Sam doubles over onto his elbows and knees, and Dean’s really glad that Sam’s into yoga. He folds himself over Sam’s back, still buried deep as Sammy clenches down around him, tighter than any vice.

            Dean cums, fingers still closed around Sam’s softening length, and nearly whites out from the combined rush of brutal pleasure and the spell dissipating. Sam groans as Deans cums, dick giving a few feeble twitches. He comes to a few minutes later when Sam’s back shakes under him.

            “Dude, get off.” Sam laughs huskily, still crunched over with Dean folded over his back.

            “Sorry man, that was just…..” Dean shakes his head and pulls out carefully. Sam grimaces at the hot slide of cum as it drips down his thighs.

            “It was.” Sam agrees wholeheartedly, rolling over onto his side. Dean flops down next to him and grins sheepishly. The spell is satisfied and without the threat of liquidation, both men are fucked out and a little shell-shocked.

            “That was fuckin’ awesome. Why didn’t we do that sooner?” Dean asks, almost in awe of the fan-fucking-tastic sex they just had.

            “Seriously, I don’t know.” Sam laughs, climbing out of bed with a groan. He’s sore and covered in cum but other than that he can’t complain. He’s not goop and in his book that counts as a win.

            “Shower?” Sam offers, wiping his hands off on Dean’s bloodied shirt and digging clothes out of his duffel.

            “And then we hunt down the wicked bitch of the east and shoot her in the face?” Dean climbs lazily to his feet, bones liquid.     

            “And then we hunt down the wicked bitch of the east and shoot her in the face.” Sam agrees wholeheartedly, stretching out his back. He takes care of Dean’s back before they head out.

                                                                                                   *

            The look on Agatha’s face when they show up in her living room, obviously still alive, will stay with Dean for the rest of his life. So will the look on her face when Sam put a bullet in her familiar when she came around the corner and Dean put one right between her eyes.

            Blood soaking into the carpet, two bodies cooling at their feet, Dean turns to Sam and asks him casually “Wanna give it another go?”

            Sam laughs, and it’s completely inappropriate, but he fishes the pistol from the holster on the witches upper thigh and puts it in her hand, careful not to touch it, after firing through one of the windows they’d broken their first time around.

            “Race you to the car.”   

 

 


End file.
